Now he was coming to her with sadness. There had been another ride when he had come to her in a halloo of storms. Things change.

The porter brushed him and removed his grips to the platform. The far lights of a village sprinkled themselves feebly in the darkness. This was where Rachel was waiting.

Dorn stepped from the train. It became another world, lighted and human.

He looked about the dingy little station. Rachel was walking toward him.

"She looks strange and out of place," he thought.

They embraced. Her kisses covering his lips delighted him unexpectedly.

He found himself walking close to her in the night and feeling happy.

They entered a darkened wooden house and Rachel led the way upstairs.

"I can't talk, Erik."

She held his hand against her cheek.

"No, don't kiss me. Let me look at you. Sit over here. I must look at you."

She laughed softly, but her eyes, unsmiling, stared at him. He remained silent. The sadness that had fallen upon him in the train returned now like a hurt in his heart. He had expected it to vanish at the sight of her. But her kisses had only hidden it. She came to his side after a pause and whispered gently,

"Perhaps it would have been better if you hadn't come, dearest. I've become almost used to being alone."

He embraced her and for the moment the sadness was hidden again.

Rachel's hands crept avidly to his face, holding his cheeks with hot fingers.

"Erik, oh, Erik, do you love me? I'm not afraid to hear. Tell me."

"Yes, dear one. You are everything."

"What makes you cry?"

He kissed her lips.

"I don't know," he whispered. "Only it's been so long."

"Oh, you are so sad."

Her voice had grown thin. Her eyes, dry, burning, haunted the dark room.

She removed herself from his arms and stood with her hand in her hair.

She looked at the dark sea that mirrored the night outside the window.

Turning to him after a pause she murmured:

"I had forgotten Erik Dorn was here."

A sudden stride, the gesture of another Rachel, and she had thrown herself on the bed.

"Oh, G.o.d!" she sobbed. "I knew, I knew!"

Dorn, kneeling on the floor, pulled her head toward him. He whispered her name. Why was he sad, frightened? A thought was murmuring in him, "You must love her."

"Rachel, I love you. Please. Your tears. Dearest, what has happened?

Tell me."

"Don't ask that." Her tears came anew. "But you come to me sad, as if I were no longer Rachel to you."

The thought kept murmuring, "You must love her...."

"Beautiful one," he said softly, "you're weeping because something has happened to you."

The thought murmured, "because something has happened to you, not her."

"No, no, Erik!"

"Then why? If you loved me you would be happy."

Absurd sentences. They would deceive no one.

A belated emotion overcame him. Now he was happy. His arms grew strong about her. He would say nothing, but lie beside her kissing her until the tears ended. This was happiness. He watched her lips begin to smile faintly. Her face touched him as if she had sighed. She whispered after a long silence, "Oh, I thought you had changed."

He laughed and pulled her to her feet. His head thrown back, his eyes amused and warm, he asked, "Do I seem changed now?"

He waited while she regarded him. Why was he nervous? Must he answer the question too?

"No," she said, "you are the same."

Her face shining before him. Her head quickly lifted.

"I was a fool. Look, Erik, I am happy--happier than anybody on earth."

She dropped to her knees, kissing his hand.

"I am so happy, I kneel...."

They stood together in the window and laughed.

"There's a wonderful old woman here. We've talked a great deal, about everything, and you. You don't mind? To-morrow we'll lie all day on the sh.o.r.e. Oh, Erik. Erik!"

"We'll never be alone again, Rachel."

"Never!" she echoed.

CHAPTER VII

A calm had fallen upon Erik Dorn, an unconsciousness of self. He sprawled through the sunny days, staring at the sea with Rachel or walking alone to the fishing-boats at the other end of the village, or sitting with Mama Turpin, the old woman in whose cottage they lived.

With Mama Turpin he held interminable talks that rambled on through the night at times. Religion was Mama Turpin's favored topic. Her round body in a rocking-chair, her seamed, vigorous face raised toward the sky, the old woman would fall into a dream and talk quietly of her G.o.d. She would begin, her voice coming out of the dark reminding Dorn of a girl.